Ben Solo - Smuggler Husband Survivor
by harrishawksuperiour
Summary: Kylo Ren did terrible things and Ben Solo must live with them. Instead of sealing himself away or joining his father and uncle, Ben makes a decision. To leave and, if he can, heal. Following in his father's footsteps, he finds love and peace aboard a smuggling freighter; amidst a mishmash of the galaxy's biggest hearts and best shots.
1. Chapter 1 - Trauma

Ben Solo often needed to be alone.

Despite the busy freighter and the crew with a family mentality, he always managed to find a quiet place to reflect. Just like now. In a small, dingy room with little more than a camp bed as a highlight. But it was warm, away from everyone and he could hear himself think. The only distraction was background noise; the occasional clang of heating elements and the constant drone of the engines, either roaring or cooling.

Limp on the camp bed, Ben centred himself - just like Luke had taught him, what felt like a lifetime ago. He'd been a whole different person since then; been places, done things…. A lot of them he wished he hadn't.

Eyes closed and breathing steady, he reached out. Not physically, not extending his arm and touching nothing, but flexing his senses like intangible fingers, reaching into the unknown. Deepening his consciousness and his inhales, he found himself on that level of oblivion that was common ground of both sides of the Force; frequented by both the Jedi and the Sith. Not that Ben had ever been either exclusively but a product of both.

This…. This _place…._ It belonged to both, influenced by both and it was that that made it a dangerous place or a safe one. Like every other aspect of the Force, these two sides twisted and churned in tandem; feeding off each other and aiding each other while mutual destruction seemed inevitable but never came. Because of that…. Ben could never be sure what he would encounter here but he felt compelled to come here nonetheless; for penance or comfort.

 _Tehar…._ Ben flinched, his head jerking in a spasm. Nothing but screaming in his ears and naught before his eyes. Blaster fire. Stormtrooper radios cackling. The clatter of pristinely white armour.

He writhed on the bed but the grating of the fabric on his face had been replaced by cold, restrictive metal and the ancient springs creaking with a respirator. The sweat beading on his brow and upper lip was not from self-inflicted anxiety or stress but sheer, merciless heat.

 _Jakku…. That sand-clogged shithole…._ Again, only blackness but it seemed his sight was the only sense ripped from him. The _smell_ of smoke, ash, cooking food engulfed his nose though it may well have been imagination back then. After all, he couldn't smell very well in that helmet, not that it had mattered all that much then. He could _feel_ his cowl being tugged by the prickling night breeze as heavy boots cut through the resistance of the sand. He could _hear_ the panicked bleatings of villagers rounded up like cattle and the humming _crackle_ of a lightsaber that was unstable as he was. Hell, he could even _taste_ the stray grit on his tongue; how it got there, he couldn't be sure even to this day.

 _Takodana…. Revisiting old friends, just to destroy them…_ If the other two didn't make Ben pant and cry out, this one would. He had sensed them there….. Han and Chewie, his father and uncle. Not to mention the others; countless, nameless, faceless beings forgotten over the years and remembered in an instant when he sent squadrons to cut them down. People he had known as a child, however briefly, be them friendly to him, Han and Chewie or not. He laid waste to that castle; the one that had stood proud and served a representative from all corners of the galaxy for over a thousand years. And Maz…. Don't get him started on Maz.

Ben eventually surfaced from the trance-slash-nightmare. Sweat soaked, oxygen starved, and limbs shaken numb, his surroundings began to register.

It was all gone. He was in his little cranny, safe and sound, to recover at his leisure and hope the experience next time would not be _quite_ as draining.

 _I'm starving….._ He thought and checked the chronometer on his com device. It wasn't dinner time yet, they wouldn't have eaten without him and if they were looking for him, Shan would have broken down every door until he found him. _Do I have time for a shower? Probably…._ But he didn't move. Not yet. Simply twisted onto his stomach and propped himself on his elbow, chin cupped in the palm of his hand, Ben opted to recover slowly from that almost vomit-inducing reminder of the things he'd done but could never take back. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions of people whose lives he had turned upside down (or taken altogether), who he could never look in the eye and say: _I'm sorry._

The lightsaber was gone now. Mort took it, under Ben's instruction and, under no circumstances, was he to give it back.

Come to think of it, what had he even _done_ with the saber? Sold it? Maybe. Though, Mort wasn't very good with credits; Ben would have noticed a ridiculous purchase and a less than satisfactory answer for where the money had come from.

Hidden it? On the freighter? Off it? He doubted he'd hidden it on board. If Shan found it and hurt himself, Nalesse (Mort's half-sister and Shan's mother) would debilitate Mort in her fury without even turning the weapon on, Ben didn't doubt that much.

Had he destroyed it? Maybe that wasn't such a stretch. He could see Mort taking great pleasure in destroying the symbol of what had brought Ben so much pain. But his partner was also sentimental; romantic. There was no way he would resist taking a few pieces and reconstructing them into something else, however tacky.

One steel toe-cap boot found the floor, then the other and Ben swivelled onto his bottom. It was a severe relief for his sodden head to meet the colder durasteel panel; to tilt against it and let it cool his neck and the top of his spine.

 _I could sleep now…._ His conscious told itself and though it was tempting, even just a quick nap, Ben had set out his priorities.

 _Food._

 _Shower._

 _Not necessarily in that order._

The dark-haired male curled his lips inwards and narrowed his eyes in contemplation as another alluring thought occurred. Yes, that was as good as the others and just as appealing.

 _I wouldn't say no to a fuck either._


	2. Chapter 2 - Mortimer Bowdane

Mortimer Bowdane was a _beautiful_ creature.

Before, Ben had never taken the time to ask himself: _"What am I attracted to?"_ Too busy with slaughter and repression of the masses in the name of the First Order and his master, something like that was trivial. But a shaggy, golden mane, periwinkle eyes, sun kissed skin and a set of lips for servicing the Gods seemed to tick some sort of box for Ben.

Mort met Ben at a similar height, and his build matched what had made Kylo Ren a physical killing machine. Minus the malice and with added gentility (seemingly mismatched with his physique), it hadn't occurred to the Knight how much he would enjoy it until he experienced it; being held down in sexual submission, cuddled afterwards or held securely during a night terror to prevent him doing injury to himself. The well-travelled, indiscernible accent crooning comfort in his ear always helped too. _You're a'right. You're a'right. I've gotcha. Easy, easy…._

Even if he was immediately out of Ben's eyeline at that very moment, it mattered not; not when those magnificent features were ironed into Ben's psyche. That was partially Ben's fault, with chocolate eyes shuttered to the room.

But mostly Mort's, for wandering below the waist, where he knew Ben wouldn't have the strength to lift his head to spy him.

" _Fuck!"_ The near-anguished snarl spawned a full-mouthed chuckle from beyond the darkened realm of his own eyelids. Ben tried to lessen the heated pressure, lifting his hips for some bare relief and Mort, as always, accommodated him.

One of Ben's scarred hands (the lightsaber tended to spark over the years, hence his eventual adoption of gloves) lowered and tangled itself in the sandy tresses. Those wonderful sounds of selfless slurping and gagging continued but the enjoyment was clearly mutual.

" _Good boy…"_ Ben choked, arching his hips and driving for the back of his beloved's throat, and Mort (who took great pride in doing so) took him flawlessly.

He chose to deny himself the heavenly envelopment for a moment, just a moment, to lift his pelvis and smear his weeping tip along Mort's cheek; marking him as his own. Not that Mort needed reminding and reclaimed the object of his oral fascination without too much delay.

The warm encasement of his partner's mouth receded slowly, tongue peeling along the shaft and his nostril exhales ruffling the tuft of hair that kept Ben's nether regions toasty.

"Turn over, love." Came the husk that greeted Ben each morning before he even opened his eyes. "Can't reach ya like tha'." So, he complied; despite the extra effort required to get his knees to cooperate from their weakness and lying on his front instead. The ex-Knight ignored the double _**clicking**_ ; knowing what it was and what it meant but too immersed in the opposite of what he'd experienced earlier, Ben would take the abundance of physical touch and relish it. Even the iciness that worked its way between the cheeks of his arse.

" _Ahhh….! Ahhh…!"_

"Cold?"

" _You know it's cold, Mort!"_ The blonde half of the pair, the Yang to Ben's Ying, reshuffled on his knees for traction as he chewed on his amusement. Mort was careful; the first lubed finger would be sufficient for now, having massaged those pasty cheeks and dipping it in the appropriate, puckered hole to work him loose.

Ben's head burrowed into the pillow to suffocate the whine as Mort's middle finger gently wormed its way past the guarding sphincter muscle, opening Ben gradually for comfort.

" _How did I live without this….?!"_

"I dunno, love." Mort chimed, his delight plain as he twisted his finger and Ben squirmed accordingly. "You mightn've been so prone to swingin' a lightsaber round…. Bu' you're makin' up for los' time now."

Indeed, he was.

Ben's fist made for his own taut, saliva-coated prick but found his hand being mercilessly swatted away by Mort's empty one.

"Ah! Bold!"

" _Come on!"_ Ben whinged, frustrated by the delay and wagging his hips in want. _"I need it!"_

"You're a dirty, needy lil bitch, Ben Solo. Y'know tha'?"

" _Yes…!"_

Mort's initial movements were slow, no doubt intended to tease, the agonizingly leisurely thrusts of his hand into Ben's arse complimenting the filthy rhetoric and intensifying his reactions.

After a moment or so, Mort replaced one with two: the middle and the index. With a shuddering breath that meant he was just about coping with the sensation; Ben folded his arms in front of him and laid his cheek against them; as a grounding for his upper body.

" _ **Mort."**_ Ben snarled suddenly, the vexation and frustration becoming clear in an instant; though there hadn't been much build up. _**"Stop piss-arsing around and fuck me!"**_

Mort, having sat back on the balls of his feet and withdrawing his sopping fingers for fear of losing them, tilted that shaggy head and quirked a sandy eyebrow at his beloved's utter aggravation. One would think though, that knowing Ben the way he did and reading him as well as he could, that Mort would have just gotten on with it. But when did Mort ever miss the opportunity for a witty remark? Even at his own peril?

"And wha' do I get outta it?" The look of pure thunder over his shoulder and merciless clench of the sheets in his fist was probably Ben's best effort at restraint. And Mort knew it. "Dump my load. Right."

To that end, Ben re-settled himself in the flesh of his forearms while the _jingling_ of Mort's belt and the **thud** of his heavy cargo pants hitting the floor lulled him back into the embrace of expectant sedation.

The unity and filling feeling of oneness pulled a guttural moan from Ben's vocal cords as he took throbbing inch after throbbing inch. It was enough to undo the starvation of touch, sight, smell and sound and plummet his stress levels until he was little more than a whining mess.

"So… Wha' was up your hole?" Mort, who didn't see the irony of the question, voiced it out of concern; complete with a post-coital kiss to his fiancé's dark, raggedy head. Ben, barely awake, inclined said head to receive it and jostled closer among the tousled sheets to support himself against Mort's tattooed chest. Needless to say, the ever-affectionate smuggler swallowed him to his torso without complaint or protest, despite the interrogation.

"Up until a few minutes ago: You."

"Oi. The wisecracks are my bag. Seriously though, you've been mopin' since yesterday. What's goin' on?"

If the former Kylo Ren thought he could get away with pretending to drift in blissful satisfaction and fulfilment, he needed to re-evaluate who he was speaking to. Mort, who lived with the erratic and often aggressive Nalesse Du Sade, had reading moods down to a tee. Granted, he got away with a lot more with Ben than he did with his sister.

"C'mon. Out with it. Is it your mam?"

 _Fuck._ Ben thought, managing to disguise his sigh as a particularly relaxed exhale. _That was quick. Might as well get it over with._

"I'm seeing her tomorrow. For the first time in… I dunno how long. I keep flip-flopping in my mind if I should go, or cancel, go, or just not turn up."

"Want me to go with ya?" Trust Mort, the ever-benevolent Mort who despised seeing his partner in such a dire condition, to want to make the inevitable as painless as possible.

"Nah. She likes you though. Said that you've balls enough to walk onto a heavily manned Resistance airstrip with a fake bomb strapped to your chest. Said it was the kinda shit my dad would'a done." The blonde smiled at the memory, and while Ben was adamant to endure the meeting alone, Mort would like the chance to see his soon-to-be mother in law again; minus being in a stun-addled stupor, strapped to an interrogation chair.

"I was going to ask Nalesse if I could borrow Shan and bring him with me."

"I don't think that'd be an issue. Why Shan though? I said I'd go with ya."

"I'm meeting her at Dex's." Ben had thought this through carefully. While the opportunity to see his mother and lay things out with her was golden and he w _anted_ to do it, he didn't trust himself not to turn tail and run at the last second. "If Shan knows we're going to Dex's, there's no way I'll be able to drag him out till he's had his chicken bites-"

"Stubborn little bollix. Like his mam."

"You wouldn't change that _stubborn little bollix_ for the galaxy."

"No. And I'll fuckin' fight anyone tha' tries. Go on."

"So, if I have Shan, I won't be able to run. He'll keep me calm and level-"

"Like a teddy bear."

"Yeah. And if he's there, we'll have something to focus on if things get quiet. He'll break the ice."

"Keep an eye on 'im, or tha's not all he'll break." A fair warning.

Mort shimmied down in the bed, effortlessly taking Ben with him; maybe there was time for a nap before dinner time, though it might have been advisable for pyjama pants at the very least should Shan come looking for his uncles to fetch them for dinner.

"You sound like you've it all planned so."

"Mmm…"

"Well, look, I'll be nearby with the shuttle. If ye need a quick exit, com me. If not, pick me up a slider and I'll see ye after."

"I want this to go well, Mort."

"I know you do, love. And I want it to go well for ya. But, promise me ya won't be disappointed if it doesn't."


	3. Chapter 3 - Dex's

D-Day.

The eleventh hour.

The point of no return.

The morning that made Mort roll over in bed and eye his already wakeful fiancé with a near-silent, interrogatory hum of: _"Well?"_

Would Leia Organa be kept waiting? Or would she have a delightful afternoon with her son that would bridge the gap of _monstrous_ consequences?

"What's the weather like on Coruscant?"

Ben didn't dare do anything but indulge the fluster-driven inquiry of a mother parting with her child, if only for a few hours. So, while he stood there idle and waiting, he went about doing just that.

"Uhh..." Com device shimmied from its usual pocket (there had to be a _usual_ pocket when Ben had so many), the taller of the two ebonettes consulted the weather application for the purest of purposes. "CoCo Town, Coruscant: Mild, bit breezy... Recommended attire... let's see here..." _Scroll, scroll, scroll. Here we go._ "Species: Human... Yeah. Light jacket'll do it, Less."

"You sure?" Aside from his soon-to-be husband, Ben's closest companion was his imminent sister-in-law and wife of his former General, Nalesse. Standing tall at five-foot-fuck-all, Nalesse was (as the rest of the Durable crew affectionately referred to her) an ankle biter. With long, black bouncy curls and eyes of head-turning lavender, Ben still had to look between her and Starkiller's creator and ask himself: _How?_ He adored her, but sometimes, Nalesse could be a bit… _overbearing._

Then again… If Ben had had the upbringing that Shan had (the polar opposite to his own), the Dark Side may never have held temptation for him. Closely guarded, loved beyond belief and his parent's sole focus? What child would stray from that? Was Ben Solo jealous of a toddler? Maybe. Or he might have been, once upon a time.

"That's what it says." He replied blandly, calling up the projection function and holding it aloft for the dark-haired beauty to see for herself; she did, she scrutinized it briefly then turned back to the wardrobe to put the information to good use. In that instance, Ben caught the eye of the little boy sitting half-naked on the bed and rolled his own with the pulling of a playful smirk that said: _Moms, huh?_ and Shan's cheeks spread into an adorable, boyish that Ben could readily remember Leia fussing about finding something for him to wear that would keep him sufficiently warm. That said, just because he didn't _remember it,_ didn't mean it hadn't occurred.

"He's gonna be indoors, Less." The ex-Kylo Ren offered while Nalesse combed through hanger after hanger; the child owning more clothes than his mother and father combined. "It's gonna be fine."

And that's what Ben kept telling himself.

* * *

General Leia Organa had patience of remarkable proportions.

She had perfected it over the years, be it as a princess, a Senator or a General, but (she could admit) very little of it had come from being a parent. To reap patience from parenthood meant she would have had to have been present for it and that was, unfortunately, rarely the case. She'd paid the price for it, so had Han. Was she about to get the second chance that neglect had almost cost her?

Checking her chronometer again, she grimaced when the twinge of doubt hit her once more that he was late; the possibility of him not coming becoming more real with every tick away from the agreed meeting time _._ Every time the door of the grimy diner opened, Leia sat bolt upright and tilted in her seat to get a better view of the new arrivals; so far, she remained crestfallenly disappointed.

Was it a punishment? Leaving her to dangle there like he had dangled; ignored com call after ignored com call? Could she blame him? After all he'd gone through, stemmed from her and Han's own selfish lack of parental presence? The birthdays they'd missed, the Life Days, the bedtimes… Not to mention handing him over to Luke where familial tenderness had dropped from low to zero; and to avoid accusations of favouritism, it had to be that way. The final nail in Ben Solo's coffin _had_ to be when his grandfather's identity was maliciously revealed to the galaxy by Leia's political opposition and an oblivious (and vulnerable) teenage Ben along with it.

No wonder he succumbed to it, the Dark. Especially then, when it made sense to him, when it was in his _very blood._ When the gaping differences between him and his fellow younglings suddenly became wouldn't Snoke's honeyed tones seduce him to, what was apparently, his birthright? Inescapable? Inevitable? Heir to one of the most infamous Sith Lords in the galaxy's history? That was one hell of a legacy and the repeatedly neglected Ben Solo could not resist it for some bare scrap of belonging. The galaxy and Ben himself suffered in different ways for it.

Even if he did resist, and there had been points at the beginning of his training, Snoke seemed to know exactly what to say to bring him back under control. _Control._ He hadn't realized it then, too blinded by anger and pain. It took for Han to die for the smokescreen to lift, for the realization to hit and for so much undoing and healing to start.

More people came, more people went, and Leia got more and more dejected with each one. So immune to it and wallowing deeper in her own blameful melancholy with her hands wrapped around her mug of caf, Leia was beginning to resign herself. For that reason, the General did not look up (for the first time) when the door opened again and the waitress who had served her skirted the counter, crouched down, ecstatic, with her arms wide.

"Hey, Sweetie!"

From her booth, Leia crestfallenly watched a small boy (a human, a rare redhead) bound to the open hug and wrap his own little arms around the waitress; as best he could, at least. Her own child? Coming to visit her at work? Passing with his father and stopping in briefly to see his mother? Maybe a free ice-cream on the sly? _Must be nice_. Leia thought miserably, seating her chin in the palm of her hand as she took it all in; accepting the well-deserved kick in the gut for a mistake made decades ago. _She has the right idea. Keep him close. Never let him doubt for a second that he's loved and wanted._

That must be him, the child's father; the big, broad male that lumbered into the diner in the toddler's wake. But Leia must've been deep in her wistful reverie if she didn't notice something about that particular man. Something glaringly obvious and familiar. They talked, this apparent mother and father, but strangely, the waitress peered around one of the new arrivals with the other one hoisted into her arms.

And when he turned as directed, Leia was winded.

Ben.

* * *

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ben, sliding into the booth opposite his mother, joked carefully; testing the waters that absence and destruction had iced over. She may have been his mother, someone he was close to and should have known to the tiniest detail but… that was (sadly) not the reality and so, Ben had no idea if a joke was appropriate or not (no matter how benign). Nyla, the waitress and friend, had given him two menu chips to bring over on his way and that, that small offering of handing her a menu, drew a line under _everything._ Leia's gaze travelled across the worn, plastic tabletop and found the eyes of deepest chocolate; the ones that had suctioned the air from her lungs at the sheer force of love when she looked upon them for the first time over thirty years ago. They looked back, hopeful and with a hint of vulnerability.

" _Not a ghost."_ Leia managed through the sentimental awe, swallowing when it hit her: _her_ _ **son**_ _, her_ _ **precious baby boy**_ _,_ sat across from her with that familiar Solo smile tugging up into his cheek. _Don't cry… Don't cry…_ " _Just someone I was worried I'd lost. That's all."_

Kylo Ren. Snoke. The First Order. Jakku. Crait. Starkiller Base. Everything before, after, and in between. Gone. All of it. In its place: a second chance that neither felt they deserved but were going to mutually seize with both hands anyway. And speaking of seizing things with both hands…

Shan had refused a highchair, so Nyla returned him a few moments later into his uncle's arms with a word of thanks before settling him into the booth. Naturally, Leia stared through the menu projection; the food choices taking a backseat to the unexpected third party and, quite frankly, if Ben had produced a bantha from his backpack, she would have been less surprised. But a _child?_

"This is… This is Shan." Ben, picking up on the silent but bombarding curiosity, relieved her before she could ask. "My nephew." The tweak in the General's features, a contortion of bewilderment, prompted him to clarify before her question might have been worded somewhat (if accidentally) insensitively. "Our nephew." Nope, still confused with eyes only for the toddler standing on the seat to stare back at her but Maker, was that stare heart-crushingly endearing; shy and curious but brave enough to inquire all the same. "Mort's nephew." He conceded eventually, lips thinned and pained to admit it.

His mother analysed it, that confession. This child was not biologically Ben's nephew; he could never be, despite how he clearly doted on him. By marriage, perhaps, and in all but blood… Then again… That had never stopped Ben referring to Chewie or Lando as "uncle" either. In the same vein, it didn't make the blindest bit of difference to Shan if Ben was biologically his uncle or not. He was, and would always be, Uncle Ben.

"He's your nephew." Leia concluded benevolently with a kind grimace to match; reprieving her son from having to explain it. Ben gratefully took the reprieve and thankfully, that appreciative silence tied in with when Nyla approached the table to take their orders.

"What'll it be, guys?" With her datapad in hand, Nyla's smitten eyes fell on the flame-headed toddler first. "Well, I _know_ what you're having!" Naturally, Shan received the routine kiss to his forehead; the same one that prompted that adorable grin in return. Yes, Mort _definitely_ had a strong hand in this child's upbringing.

"I'll take my usual, Nyls. Usual caf too." Ben handed over his menu chip (not that he ever needed it) and suddenly, three expectant gazes fell on General Leia Organa.

"What's the usual?" The older woman inquired, the fresh novelty of the sequences of events having forbidden her from even glancing at the menu before Nyla approached. It would occur to her later when she reflected on the afternoon that she might like to have a "usual" too. A "usual" that Nyla would know when she met her son in the same place at the same time, maybe once or twice a week to catch up and chat. Perhaps with the same sweet toddler in tow.

"The usual is "Besalisk's Bellyful" hash." The eldest of the two males explained with yearning fondness (and a watering mouth) while Nyla waited with placid patience; indecision in this line of work was hardly rare. "It's protatoes, onions and bantha beef. It's amazing; once you try it, you'll be hooked. And it comes with a breakfast side, but you'd be crazy to miss the tailring bacon. Everything here is good but _that_ is unlike anything I've ever had." And that was good enough for Leia.

"Y'know what…?" The Princess-turned-Senator-turned-General had given the food choices little to no heed; not when the distractions kept coming. Calling down the projection function of the menu, Leia handed it into Nyla's open palm, making a point of giving the waitress the respect of eye contact. "I think that's about what I'm looking for."

* * *

"We came here on a date… If you can call it a date."

Pleased she had taken Ben's advice with the greasy goodness of "Besalisk's Bellyful" hash (and thinking she had found her "usual"), Leia looked up, mid-chew. Thankfully, mercifully, the awkward gaps in conversation had been limited to the beginning of the encounter but when the food arrived, they had common ground to discuss _him._ After all, isn't it only natural for a mother to want to know about her son's progress? Particularly when he's getting married?

"Why wouldn't you call it a date?" Leia inquired from over the rim of her cup; for a greasy spoon, the caf was good.

"I mean, it was. It was. I suppose, in my head then, who the f-" Turns out having a toddler present helps with censorship too. "Who the hell would want to take a rampaging psychopath on a date?"

"Happens every day of the week-cycle, Ben." The General's dry wisdom resulted in another pull of that trademark Solo grin; a beautiful thing to see after so long. "Except in this case, it wasn't revealed when it was too late into the relationship. It was reversed." True. Literally reversed. Mort had known of Kylo Ren's wicked acts before and _still_ wanted to court him and see if Ben Solo could be salvaged. As it happened, the affection of the grizzled smuggler and bounty hunter had done just that. "Go on."

"We'd agreed to meet for a drink. After a random com call at like two in the morning. He said he knew a small, quiet place; somewhere I wouldn't be recognized." Ben, too, indulged in a mouthful of caf to wash down that particular jumble of bantha beef, onions and protatoes. "When I turned up, not far from here, he took one look at me and just says: _"No.""_ Leia paused her own munch as the rawness registered, as Ben projected the perceived rejection and pain of that encounter. But there was more to it. "I'm thinking, in my own head, _"C'mon, man,_ _ **you**_ _asked_ _ **me**_ _here."_

" _He took a few steps towards me and looked at me,_ _ **really looked at me**_ _, and said: "No, you need food. Real food. C'mon, I know where to go. And he brought me here."_

"And the rest, as they say, is history." Leia playfully chimed her piece to a conceding incline of Ben's shaggy head, the grin returned after having temporarily lapsed during his recount.

"Nyla put a menu chip down in front of me." The former Knight of Ren went on as a bonus titbit. "I don't think I even knew how to open it, let alone what to pick. I'd been living off protein packs and ration bars; I barely remembered what it was to chew something. Or taste something for the sake of tasting something; it was all just about eating to function." Another sad reality of being Kylo Ren, something most take for granted. But Ben made up for it now.

"When I didn't know what to do or how to go about even choosing something, he just ordered a bunch of stuff and made me try everything. This-" A chuffed-looking Ben gestured to his quickly-emptying plate, enough for his mother to pause his chew and crane her neck to see the point. "Was my favourite. Still is."

"I think I would've made the same choice." Leia's agreement warmed the ex-Kylo Ren; his heart and his smile. "Tell me about the engagement."

"We uhh… We had a bet." Now, who did _that_ remind her of? Not just the sly coyness of the admission or the half-smirk that accompanied it but being so carefree and comfortable with his partner that using marriage as a gambling chip could be _normal._ Like a certain ship, for instance, that had changed hands so many times through gambling, cheating and straight-up theft. "He bet me that Arm would get six hundred a piece for a new set. I told him he was wrong; they wouldn't fetch it, but he was confident and said if he was right, I had to marry him. I won't tell you what we did, but we didn't shake on it." Leia playfully cringed, Ben did not; not with the company he kept daily and what they considered to be _conventional_ topics of conversation. Nalesse happened to be the worst and how she and Armitage only had one child remained a mystery. So far, anyway.

"Let me guess: You lost the bet." A fair assumption, going by the ring on her son's left hand; an intention ring of solid silver (plain but striking and meticulously chosen), a beautiful piece that had caught Leia's eye.

"Nope. Lost the bet." Cue the strum of the General's curiosity, enough to pause her meal; a meal she happened to be enjoying thoroughly.

"But-"

"He lost the bet, Arm only got five-fifty a piece. But he asked me to marry him anyway and I said fu-" Automatically, Shan's sweet, doleful eyes heightened to meet Ben's dropped ones; the taboo of cursing around the child (who was almost finished his chicken bites) drilled into both of them by now. Naturally, the eldest male's sentence was amended accordingly. "I said screw it, he's an asshole but he's my asshole. So… We're getting married."

As if the blonde smuggler was listening, Ben's com device erupted into life; the din of it vibrating on the table seeming to drown out the noise of the increasingly busy diner.

"That's him now. Speak of the devil. Hey. Yeah, babe, I can hear you."

Leia turned her attention and gave Ben the privacy of his com call, not that it dictated privacy; if she thought every communication needed to be conducted with a degree of secrecy, perhaps she had been operating covertly too long. Instead, she readjusted her heed to the child sitting opposite her; the one who had monitored her every move from the moment he joined them at the table but whose shyness she did not want to impose upon. Given time, he would come around to her on his own and until then, Leia would simply smile encouragingly whenever they caught each other's eye. As it happened, that wouldn't be long and while Ben spoke to his beloved, Shan had already made it his business to shuffle his plate a little closer to his uncle's mother's and shimmy a few protato strips from his to hers; much to Leia's heart-swelling delight.

"Yeah, he just put some of his protato strips onto my mom's plate. Okay… Yeah… Mort, I'll see you in a sec, get off the damn com. Yeah, love you too. Bye- Yeah. Bye." With the com hung up, set down and his eyes rolled in a playfully dismissive fashion, Ben stifled the same laugh his mother did. "Jeez. Tell a guy you'll marry him and he's up your ass for the rest of your life." Another forkful, another beautiful reminder of that turning point in his life. Then, he turned to Shan who, in turn, severed his gaze from Leia. "Hey. Check the door. Who's coming in?"

Almost on cue, as Shan clambered up to stand on the seat of the booth and look over the back of it, the door pinged and another male to match Ben's stature lumbered over the threshold. Wrapped in a work-practical leather trench coat, the blonde of prepossessing features drew eyes, dropped jaws and turned heads as he obliviously passed a table of women of mixed species.

"Usual?" Nyla assumed distractedly, without looking up from another customer's bill as Mort stalked by. Another patron would have demanded more enthusiasm and attention but Mort and the rest of the Brax were such long-term customers that no offence would be taken by not fawning over them.

"Usual, Nyls, please. You're a doll."

" _Is Mort!"_ Shan hissed in delirious excitement (as if it had been infinitely more than an hour or so ago that he'd seen the blonde) to his darker uncle then to the newest addition to his life that he had already decided he liked. _"Is Mort!"_

" **Heya!"** Now even with the table, Mort's impressive height came with the most darling stipulation to the toddler. Shan, despite having a full belly and the remnants of a chicken bite in one hand, bounced on the seat in a routine, unspoken ritual of pure delirium and (before a suddenly alarmed Leia could stop him) leaped at his (biological) uncle. Of course, it was unthinkable for anything else to happen but for Mort to catch him. Secured close and snuggled tight to his chest, the brick shithouse of a man supported his nephew under his bum and completed the greeting with a beard-scratching kiss to his face. _"How are ya?"_

" _Goooooooood."_ Shan twittered lovingly, one small arm slinging around Mort's neck and nuzzling close for maximum affection that his uncle returned automatically; the unquestioned affection he had been raised in from the very moment he was born. Leia's eyes had involuntarily been drawn to this beautiful display of familial adoration and it took a few seconds to tick by to remind herself that _this same fella stormed her base with a loaded blaster and a fake bomb vest._ Something she still admired to that day, mind you; Han level of guts and sheer balls. When her gaze glided to her own son, she found him fixated on the same thing.

"That for me?" Mort inquired, head inclined to the last half-nibbled morsel of chicken bite and even if Leia recoiled at the thought of it, it didn't stop the blonde opening his mouth and the child placing the titbit inside. The squeal of delight as he snatched his hand away (as if Mort would bite him!) to keep his little fingers clear of his uncle's overdramatic chewing. "Y'know what? I think I'm full now, I don't need that slider after all. Go tell Nyla I don't need the slider." Shan, in his fit of giggles, possessed neither the vocabulary nor the composure for such a task. After his exalted nephew calmed down on his shoulder, Mort turned that overly charming offensive to his (impending) mother in law; someone he was ecstatic to see when the implications of it were taken into account. "Can't bayt a cold, slobbery chicken bite, can ya, Leia?"

* * *

Mort's slider. More caf. Desserts (including a Neuvian sundae set down in front of Shan that was bigger than the toddler himself, one could only assume Nyla was responsible for its construction). More chats. More laughs. Even a food-comatosed Shan gathered to Ben's chest and covered with his jacket; the sugar would hit him later when he was back in his mother's custody. Of course, it was impossible for Leia _not_ to notice Mort's arm stretched behind Ben, or Ben's head on Mort's shoulder and the occasional kiss to the forehead or temple that Mort would bestow with apparent randomness. After all, wasn't that why she had gone? To assess her son's happiness? And she was exceptionally happy with what she saw; so much so, when it came time to leave, she could do so with an easy mind.

The blonde sneakily covered the bill under the guise of "goin' to the jacks" and waved off Leia's protests with the firm explanation of: "No. We're delighted you came. Least we can do." After that, parting of the ways became priority.

"I'll take him." The toddler's biological uncle heaved the deadweight of an _exhausted_ child into his arms, then bent to press a tickly kiss to Leia's cheek in parting. But he would see her again soon, very soon and unlike the cliché, Mort very much looked forward to seeing his soon-to-be mother in law again. "We'll see ya before the weddin', Leia. Ben'll be in touch. Mind yourself and if ya need us for anythin', anythin' at all, com us." Then, to his fiancé. "I'm gonna take him back to the shuttle, you'll walk your mam to hers, won't ya?"

Ben would.

* * *

"We still need to have a real talk."

The shared saunter to the backlot was not necessarily dangerous for a woman on her own, but Ben wanted to make sure. It _had_ crossed Leia's mind that, while she had seen for herself that her only child was happy and healthy, they hadn't really gotten around to _discussing_ anything. The years of his brainwashing, to be precise.

"I think that might have been a bit heavy for our first time seeing each other in so long."

"I know. That's why I brought Shan." Crunching footsteps ate into the contemplative silence as twilight began to fall around them; closing around Coruscant like a curtain. Leia waited, waited for clarity on _why_ Ben felt it prudent to bring the child, but she had a feeling she already knew. Honestly? Maybe he wasn't the only one to feel that way.

"I don't know how many times I almost commed you to cancel; make up some excuse, any excuse not to go. I don't know how many times I toyed with saying nothing and just not turning up. What I did know was that if I managed to convince myself to the last second to go and went alone, chances were I might get as far as the door of Dex's, get sudden cold feet and run."

The General inclined her head to the much taller male at her side. Looking at him now, how big and broad he turned out to be, how had she carried him? Birthed him? Sure, he was much smaller then but, back then, it never would have occurred to her that he would look, act and sound like he did now. Nothing to compare it to as such, she supposed. That said, Han got more of a look in than she ever did. Ben went on, taking his cue in direction from her and following her to her ship subconsciously.

"I knew if I brought Mort, he'd let me leave if I got uncomfortable; he's too good like that. Then… it hit me. Shan. If he knew he was going to Dex's, there's no way he'd let me leave without chicken bites and ice cream. So, even if I got the sudden urge to run, he'd ground me."

"And did you feel like that? The urge to run?"

A fair question and one Ben could answer honestly and with the typical Solo swaggering pride.

"We had our lil awkward gaps but… I think we did okay." Agreed.

"I was nervous too. For what it's worth. But you're right, I think we did okay." The pair came to a natural stop; the larger one taking his signal from the smaller one as they arrived at a sleek, two-pilot transport reminiscent of her Senatorial shuttle, The _Mirrorbright._

Mother gazed at son and son gazed back, both basking in mutual relief that the reconciliation had gone as smoothly as it could have gone. In fact, Leia had _enjoyed_ herself. Perhaps, the next meeting would not be so enjoyable with more nefarious topics to discuss but at least now, they had solid ground to work on, that would hopefully hold when the more challenging building came upon it.

It came from seemingly nowhere, the hug. The desperate grip between blood, the gentle sway, the careful squeeze, the prickle in Ben's back from bending down and Leia's from reaching up. Did it matter? Did it even register? No. Those hearts beat for each other and how Leia restrained tears she would never know. While sitting across from him in a diner was one thing (and immeasurable progress), this special moment to re-forge a bond she had feared long extinguished was deeper and more emotionally charged than she could have ever imagined: having him back in her arms where he belonged. Yes, he was getting married. Yes, he had a partner and a family. Yes, he had a job that would keep him away (a job that his father would be incredibly proud of, as it happened) but just like that, everything was bridged, and it was like her son had never left.

" _Com me when you get back. Just so I know you got back okay."_ The utterance was almost lost in his mother's hair, Leia caught it all the same but was unwilling to relinquish him just yet. _"I'll see you before the wedding. I promise."_

" _You'd better."_ She threatened in jest, both seeming to move to remove themselves at the same time. In tune already? _"I will, I'll com you."_ Ramp dropped and those first crushing steps of separation taken, Leia forced herself to keep going until he dropped temporarily out of sight in the short journey from the ramp to the cockpit. Placidly, he had waited and just as Leia went about her departure, she felt the words:

" _Bye, mom."_


End file.
